


Superego

by relativelyunknown



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: And not the "fandom bicycle", Bicycles, Casual Sex, Gen, Humor, M/M, POV Duo Maxwell, Post-Canon, Post-Eve Wars (Gundam Wing), Roommates, Science Fiction, Slice of Life, War, be warned, because there's nothing more wholesome than dick suckin' and bike races, literal bicycles, potential for splodeys is high
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relativelyunknown/pseuds/relativelyunknown
Summary: Duo's hopes and dreams of hosting L1 Colony's first bike races is thwarted by an unexpected tragedy.  Will the guys be able to come together to save the colony?





	Superego

**Author's Note:**

> Do you like action, adventure, angst and a little bit of sexual tension? You've come to the right place.

**Superego**  
A Gundam Wing Fanfiction  
By, RelativelyUnknown

Genre: Slice of Life, Roommate trope, War  
Pairings: 1x2; 1x3; 2x5

 

**Prologue: The Loan**

“This time it’s gonna be different.”  

The statement was delivered with so much forced confidence that even I believed it.

Heero was leaning against the far wall of our shared living room, his arms tightly coiled across his chest, staring at me with his usual icy impassiveness.  If I hadn’t slept with the guy the night before, I woulda thought that he was an android. However, I knew for a fact that he was definitely flesh and blood, with all of the usual human functions, textures, and tastes.

“Somehow I doubt that,” he mumbled and performed an impressive eye roll.

“You’ve gotta give me a chance.  I know I fucked up… a couple of times … but you know I’m good for it.  Just give me another chance. The truth is I need ya. Your support…” I was rambling.  I didn’t know any other way to convince him other than to beg, which had worked in the past so why not toss that card into the game again?  Heero was a sucker for sympathy and pathetic pleading.

He was staring at me.  I frowned and looked away to study my hands, which at this point were grimy from wrenchin’ on a few bikes for the neighborhood kids.  Always pro bono.

I needed the money but I couldn’t take cash from kids.  However, my bike shop was sufferin’. Business was bad and he knew it, but I could tell from his hesitation and the lack of a snarky rebuttal that he was at least considering it.

I hated asking him for money.  Hell, I hated asking _anyone_ for _anything,_ but I didn’t know where else to turn.  Unlike other twenty-somethings my age, I had no credit to speak of, and no proper documentation to prove my date of birth and all of that bureaucratic bullshit.  Long story short, I went to the bank for a loan and they tossed me out so fast my ass barely left an imprint in that fuckin’ fancy leather chair.  
  
‘ _We can’t lend to a nobody,’_  the prick behind the desk had grumbled at me.  I felt judged, stupid, foolish. Didn’t this guy know who _I was_?  I wanted to toss that shit all into his face.

“Hey, buddy, I saved the damn planet once!”    
  
“You see those universal credits you’re peddlin’? Yeah, wouldn’t be using Earth-Sphere currency if it wasn’t for me and my friends!”

But shit.  What’s the use?  Even without the gag order we all got restraining us from telling anyone of our involvement during Operation Meteor or the Eve Wars people still wouldn’t trust me.  Judgemental assholes, they see that you’re not wearing a three-piece suit and a tie and automatically think you’re scum. A workin’ man can’t go into a bank, they see your calluses and grease-stained hands and immediately write ya off.  

 _‘You’re twenty-five years old, with no formal education, work experience, family references or ties?  You want a loan for a bicycle shop? You’re a piece of shit, get outta here._ ’

Yep.  I could tell by the face of that overstuffed, stiff suit that he had written me off the moment I walked into that bank.

So here I was, again, askin’ Heero for a few bucks to keep my shop open.  Just to make ends meet, until business picks up.

If it ever picked up.

L1 Colony B212 had gotten the bright idea to use all of their taxpayer money to upgrade the public transit system, which was all fine and dandy for the jerks working uptown who could spare a credit or two every day to ride the maglev, but for the rest of us down in the fabrication sector we had to rely on gettin’ around on our own.  They replaced the bike lanes on the streets with more train lines, which meant people couldn’t use their bikes.

Which meant fewer bicycle purchases and repairs.  Business tanked a month later.

I had been tryin’ everything to boost business.  Promotions, advertising. I had Hilde cyclin’ around the entire colony at all hours draggin’ banners and signs on a small trailer advertising the place.  Heero’s last loan had gone to more ads on the colony Comunet, emails, and even posters at the spaceport. Nothin’ had worked. Now I was gettin’ desperate.  

Howard had suggested that I host an event.  A bike race. The guy is a fuckin’ genius.

So the L1 Metric Century was born.  It was gonna be 62 miles of pure sex on wheels.  Okay, so bike races aren’t that hot or interesting compared to the fancy shuttlecraft orbital dives goin’ on in the Earth Sphere but hell, I’m hopin’ the nostalgia freaks will buy into it.  I just need some money to get the event off of the ground.

I had explained it all to Heero, who hadn’t said much while I ranted and raved my intentions and plans to him.  Now all I could do was wait for his judgment and to see if he’d be willing to invest in my scheme.

“Think about it,” I said quickly, seeing that he wasn’t entirely convinced.  “It would be a nice cultural event for the colony. If it takes off people from other colonies and Earth could come and compete and then people will come to my shop for equipment for conditionin’, and you will make your money back plus some.”  He was avoiding makin’ eye contact with me. Not a good sign.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  “Okay, fine, I’ll suck your dick anytime you want.”  

I was joking.

Was I joking?

Okay, so maybe I wasn't joking.

He finally looked up at me, his dark eyebrow quirked.  “That won’t be necessary.”

That wasn’t what he said the night before.  It was our first time. Wasn’t it any good?  I mean, he was makin’ noises I had never heard him make before, but maybe he was fakin’ it to boost my ever dwindling ego.  

Such a good friend.

Whatever.  It didn’t matter.  At this point, he could call me fustilarian and sucker punch me in the gut _(again)_ for all I cared.  I needed cash, and I had finally reached the deepest, darkest levels of desperation.   I would do anything at this point to save my shop; sell a kidney, give a few hand jobs, or even climb into a seven-ton robotic killing machine.  Whatever it took.

Heero had to know how much this means to me.  Though we never spoke about it openly, I know he feels the same as I do.  Finally, years after all the shit had hit the fan, things were beginning to be normal for us. 

I  _felt_ normal at the shop, having a place to call my own, going numb with the everyday grind of opening shop, tinkering, turning the sign to 'CLOSED' every night.  It had become the new rhythm to my life, the thing that kept me busy, that made me sane.  I didn't have time to feel weird, to reflect on the fucked up crap of the past.  It was just me, a socket wrench and a room full of frames and wheels.  It was amazing how the simplest of machines had managed to placate me, to help me focus and heal.

Heero knew.  He had to.  Nobody understood me like he did.

"Fine," he murmured, shrugged his shoulder and raked his teeth across his lower lip, eyes narrowing as if he were about to say something else.  I waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to put terms or conditions on it or at least an exorbitant amount of interest or somethin'.

Nothing happened.  He pushed off of the wall and lumbered into his room without another word.  As his door closed every one of my tense muscles released and I collapsed onto the couch, my body forming a relieved and happily quivering puddle of goo.

I got my second chance, and this time I would make it work.


End file.
